Dresses and Ribbons
by Aishi Ni-Sama
Summary: One shot. SoraxSunao. Sunao hates crossdressing. He hates waking up dressed as a princess and not knowing why even more.


Dresses and Ribbons

Sunao would openly confess that he was one of the many who would never understand the female race; he would not-so-openly admit that he never fully got out of the "They sent me to an all-boys school because girls have cooties" phase.

He had before stated that, if asked if he was female, he would impale the poor curious soul on a spoon, severe their head, tear out any vital organs, and bury the remains in some sewer. And he would do this very, _very_ slowly . . . except for burying the remains. He felt the horrid smell was something better not dealt with.

Unfortunately, during his violent rambling, he left out that, while people could not ask if he was female, they couldn't dress him up as a girl. After Matsuri succeeded in getting him in a princess outfit, he added the "don't you dare think of making me cross-dress" to the ramble.

The only problem with his ramble was that he forgot to tell it to a very important someone.

-----

Headaches were evil.

Very evil.

So evil that, whenever Sunao figured out who gave him said headache . . .

He couldn't quite figure that out at the moment, but whatever it was, it wasn't going to be pretty.

"Stupid head," he whimpered, hand rubbing his forehead. The back of his hand brushed against something that felt suspiciously curly and fluffy. Part of his brain registered it as "Red alert! Red alert! Nao-Kun, your hair is _not_ fluffy. Get help while you still can."

The rest of his head currently going "Damn you, headache" won against his sensible thinking.

"Medicine . . . Hashiba," he said softly, for fear that any noise much louder than a whisper would result in his skull breaking itself.

A few minutes passed before Sunao realized he lacked an answer from his roommate.

_Time for a different approach._

"Kuu-Chan." Sunao said the nickname with a slightly sultry tone – or as much so as he could get with his brain pounding against his skull with an intent to kill. His attempt to get his lover to respond with seduction ended up sounding more like "Hashiba, get your ass out here. Now. My head hurts, I don't like it, and I need my damn medicine, so come out of hiding and _answer me._"

Still no answer.

With an aggravated sigh, Sunao heaved himself out of bed and trudged wearily to the bathroom for search of Tylenol, aspirin, Advil, or a mix of the three. He stopped in front of mirror to look at himself. His skin was a much more pale tone than usual, there were large, dark circles under his eyes, his hair was curled neatly with a pink ribbon holding it out of his face, he was wearing a pink dress that was quite similar to the one Matsuri –

_Oh shit, this is not what I think it is._

Ignoring the headache, Sunao shouted Hashiba's name at the top of his lungs. Multiple times. Soon followed by a moan of agony as he leaned against the wall for support while cradling his head in his hands.

-----

Sora Hashiba learned a very important lesson: Booze is good, but only in moderation. Definitely in moderation. He was glad he had a reasonably decent tolerance; he made it out of his drunken state with _some_ memory of what happened and not too bad of a hangover.

However, he was damned if his memory let him know why he was currently in the dorm shower fully-clothed and soaking wet. After some contemplation, he decided that he'd rather be in his current position than in some whore's bed somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

Sora grinned at this thought, turned off the running water, and searched for something to dry himself off with.

"HASHIBA!"

He was faintly aware of some yelling in the distance, but he figured it was probably Matsuri coming to be irritating.

_"HASHIBA!"_

Damn. Did he have to be so persistent?

_"HASHIBA, IF YOU DON'T GET HERE SOON, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU – Oh, bloody hell."_

Death-threats? Matsuri? That didn't sound like him –

It suddenly popped into his head the details of what he did in his drunken state.

_Okay, Sora. Okay. Before you spaz, you have a PMS-y male princess to deal with._

_. . . I'm screwed._

_-----_

Sunao was all but pleased to see Sora in the doorway of the bathroom. By then, Sunao had already taken to curling up into a ball in the corner, rocking back and forth and humming to himself in hopes that it would make his head magically better. He didn't trust himself with trying to figure out the instructions on the medicine bottle; his headache had turned into a migraine and it hurt to even look at anything.

"You weren't here," Sunao muttered.

"Yeah, about that, I can explain –"

"Then do so. Please. I'm _all ears_ – Why the hell are you soaking wet?" Sunao ignored his migraine long enough to chance a look upwards. In that moment, Sora had grabbed Nao's hand, pulled him onto his feet, and held onto him tightly; mainly in fear that Sunao would snap at any moment and hit him.

"To put it simply," Sora started, "I was drunk."

Sunao leaned into the embrace; the warmth was definitely more welcome than his bitchy head.

"I don't want to know."

"So were you."

Silence.

Sunao pulled away just slightly; enough to give Sora what could either be taken as a "you're lying now shut up and die" glare or "What the hell are you on?" look; maybe a mix of both.

"I don't drink."

"I spiked your soda."

A pause.

"You what?"

"Spiked your soda."

A longer pause.

"You _what_?"

"Vodka. In your soda. While you weren't looking."

Sunao opened his mouth to respond, but Sora interrupted before he could get a word in.

"You were wasted before you finished it. Said something about how you felt pretty, like a princess. So, I thought, hey, why not."

Sora found Fujimori's stare unnerving; it couldn't mean anything good.

With a hard slap and "I hate people who get me drunk and dress me up as princesses!" Sunao left the room and collapsed on Sora's bed, tightly clinging to Toshizou while muttering death threats under his breath. Sora wouldn't make it through this in one piece.


End file.
